


I've been stuck inside (your heart-shaped box)

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Kissing, M/M, all the kissing, idk what else to tag this with I'm sorry, so so much kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Harry and Louis meet for the first time when they have to kiss on camera for Zayn's art project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've been stuck inside (your heart-shaped box)

**Author's Note:**

> hello all! I know, I know, I have a WIP that I am supposed to be updating-- which I am, don't worry-- but I took a break to write this today haha. 
> 
> This fic is shamelessly, shamelessly inspired by [20 Strangers Kissing for the First Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=IpbDHxCV29A)\-- specifically, the girl in the striped shirt and the guy in the beanie-- and you should all watch the video because it is very cute. 
> 
> it is un-beta'd and un-britpicked, as I just wrote it today, so if there are any horrible mistakes, please kindly let me know and I will give you kisses on your foreheads. 
> 
> this is all for fun and please don't show it to the boys or anyone who's connected to them. thanks! enjoy!

Harry wakes up late the day he needs to go to Nick’s studio. 

It’s just-- of course it happens that on the _one day_ he actually needs to show up at Nick’s, his alarm decides to stop working. He’d set one on his phone as well, but he must’ve slept through it, because he woke up at a quarter to nine when his alarm was set for half-eight and that fifteen minutes he lost meant he didn’t have time to dry his hair properly. So, he toweled it a bit and threw on a beanie, shoved his legs in his jeans, pulled on a white t-shirt and jumper and made his way out into the brisk morning. 

He’s not the first to arrive, which is expected, but it’s also a bit weird to stand around a studio with ten other people and know that you’re going to kiss one of them on camera later. Harry’s kissed loads of strangers; he was a bit of a party animal in his wayward youth, so he doesn’t mind the thought of spotting someone across the room and learning their taste only moments later. He likes the press of another body against his, warm and solid, and he likes the intimacy of pulling back, breathless, and looking into someone’s eyes to share a smile with them. 

So he’s maybe a little bit of a romantic. And a horndog. Sue him. 

In any case, it hadn’t seemed like a problem at all to help out with Zayn’s art project-- filming twelve strangers kissing for the first time-- at all. He likes kissing. He likes kissing strangers. It’s no big deal. As he mills around the room, though, sending smiles to various people, he begins to worry. There’s no alcohol-induced haze involved here, and while no one’s ever complained about his kissing technique before, what if he suddenly just, can’t? What if he can’t do it? What if his mouth is too wet or he uses too much tongue or not enough or the person he’s with has bad breath or something?

Oh, god. 

A wave of nausea rolls his stomach. He needs to sit down, maybe, but there are no free chairs and he doesn’t feel dramatic enough to sit on the floor and hold his head between his knees. He’s fairly certain he passed a bathroom on the way into the studio, so he slips out quietly, retracing his steps and trying not to heave up the piece of toast and banana he had on the way here. The last thing he needs to do is have to ask someone for a piece of gum lest he have to kiss them with banana-vomit mouth. 

Another wave of nausea twists through him and he quickens his pace down the corridor. 

The bathroom is blessedly empty when he enters, and he goes into one of the stalls to sit on the toilet, bending at the waist to press his head to his knees. He takes one deep breath and then another and another until he reaches ten. It’s helped a little; he can breathe easier now, at least. He sits up, runs a hand down his face and stands, flushing the toilet before he leaves, just in case someone’s come in and he didn’t hear. It’ll be okay. Getting stage fright over having to kiss a stranger is probably one of the dumbest things that’s ever happened to him, but it’ll be okay. He’s an ace kisser; everyone tells him so. 

Harry stands at the sink for a moment, examining his pale face in the mirror. He looks terrified and a bit ill, and that won’t do if he’s about to be on camera, but he also hasn’t got anything to help. He didn’t even grab his chapstick, so he makes do, pinching at his cheeks until some of the color’s returned and he doesn’t look quite like a ghost. Better. 

He’s just turned the on the water to splash on his face when the door bangs open. He jumps, spills water all down the front of his jumper and promptly blushes as one of the most attractive men he’s ever seen walks around the corner. He’s tanned, like he just got back from a beach holiday, and he’s got a tattoos covering most of his right forearm. His hair’s a bit long and a bit messy, but it works for him. A lot. Harry may be staring. 

Attractive Guy (wow, Harry really needs to work on his monikers) stops when he sees Harry, raising an eyebrow and clearly looking at the water down his front. Harry’s flush flares again, deepening as the guy smirks. 

“Oops?” It’s all Harry can think to say for himself. 

AG’s smirk softens and expands, and he laughs. “Hi. All right?” 

Harry nods, turning back to the sink as the guy goes over to a urinal. Awkward, so awkward; bathrooms are the worst place to try to have a conversation, much less attempt to chat up a fit bloke. Luckily, Harry’s pretty good at zoning out during weird situations, so he’s staring at the backsplash behind the sink when the movement of AG draws him back to the present. His hands feel wet. And very, very warm.

He’s been standing with them stuck under the faucet for however long he zoned out for, and they’re starting to turn a bit pink at the tips. Harry extracts them quickly and ducks his head, turning off the water and drying his hands. AG doesn’t spare him a glance as he leaves and that’s fine. Really. 

Harry’s not so nervous when he walks back in the studio, at least, but it seems like he’s missed something important, because people are standing next to each other in pairs, and Zayn frowns at him when he walks in. 

“Where’ve you been?” Zayn hisses when he walks over. He ducks his head, flush heating his cheeks again. 

“Sorry, sorry, had to wee,” he lies, and Zayn rolls his eyes. He gets like this when he’s got a project to do. All flustered, like. It’s cute, usually, but right now Harry just feels bad because he caused it. Or, helped cause it. Made it worse, maybe? 

“Whatever, take off your jumper, you’ve got a bloody great stain on it, you can’t wear it on camera.” 

Harry blushes this time, and hunches his shoulders, ducking his head. “Sorry, it’s only water,” he mumbles, reaching around to pull it off. 

“Oi, Louis,” Zayn calls, instead of paying attention to Harry’s bumbling apologies, apparently. Harry’s not cross about it, not really, because he ends up apologizing about something at least fifty times a day. He’s just that kind of person. Y’know. A polite one. 

“Yeah, sorry,” this ‘Louis’ apparently says. Harry recognizes the voice, and he turns, tugging the jumper all the way off as he does. His beanie gets taken off with it, and he’s preoccupied with fishing it out of the tangled fabric before looking up. 

“Popped into the loo,” Louis (Ha. Loo, _Lou_ is. Get it?) says, and when Harry finally looks up again after getting the beanie out and putting it back on, he sees his-- very, very blue-- eyes widen briefly in recognition. “Watersports! Are you who I’m kissing, then?” 

Harry frowns. “Watersports?” 

“S’what I called you in my head because of the--” Louis gestures to his front, “--jumper. You know.” 

“Right,” Harry says warily, not quite sure how to feel about being named after a sex act. “More creative than mine, I suppose. I just called you ‘Attractive Guy’.” 

Louis laughs, loud and bright, his whole face lighting up in delight. Harry smiles as a warm, pleasant feeling spreads from his chest to his fingertips. 

“You can call me Louis,” Louis says, holding out a hand. Harry moves to take it, but Zayn slaps his hand away. 

“Ouch!” Harry gives him a pout-- the one he knows won’t work, but does anyway-- and Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Shut it. You’re going last, just because you were late. No touching, and try to keep the flirting to a minimum,” Zayn says, all authoritative and bossy. Harry likes Zayn when he’s a bit bossy, usually, but right now his hand stings, so he decides he really doesn’t. 

“I need this to be as organic as possible,” Zayn continues, a hand flailing in the air like it usually does when he talks about his art ideas. Harry sees Louis smirk and turn his gaze toward Harry, rolling his eyes and tilting his head at Zayn as if to say _this guy, yeah??_. Harry puts a hand to his mouth, like it’ll actually help him stifle his laugh. 

Maybe this morning isn’t so bad at all. 

\---

The waiting turns out to be the worst part. 

Harry can be pretty patient when he needs to be, but he’s basically a child most days, so Zayn telling him that he’ll get to kiss Louis but not right now is like telling said child that they’ll have to wait until after Christmas Dinner to open their presents. It’s okay, though, because the knowledge that it will happen-- that it’s _definitely_ going to happen-- makes his blood run quick through his veins and excitement flutter in his belly. ( _Butterflies_ , he thinks, grinning to himself, and God, Zayn would smack him.) 

Louis seems to be taking Zayn’s request for them to keep away from each other to heart, because he’s doing his best to stay away from Harry. He flits around from group to group and Harry’s pretty helpless to do anything except watch him move. Louis is-- he seems almost electric from a distance. Small and quick but loud and bursting with energy at the same time. His laugh fills the room they’ve been sent to sit in while the couples film, and as they dwindle, Harry moves closer and closer toward him, like a tentative moth to a unyielding flame. 

“Nervous?” Louis asks once the door to the room’s been shut behind the last couple before them. 

Harry shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, but like, good nerves?” Nothing like a few hours ago, at least. Nothing that makes him want to retch. Definitely not. 

Louis hums in response, linking his fingers in front of himself, staring at the door. His casual disregard for Harry’s blatant eagerness is weirdly intoxicating. Harry finds himself wanting to follow Louis when he finally gives in and walks a few short steps away; wants to duck and shove himself in Louis’ line of sight; wants to crowd him into the corner and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until they can’t breathe. 

It’s overwhelming, heady, and makes Harry stare at the door harder, willing it to open so they can go into the studio and _do_ this. 

Louis seems incapable of standing still for the few minutes that it takes for Zayn to come to the door again. He goes and sits in one of the chairs, leg bouncing rapidly until he stands again, pacing from one end of the room to the other. 

“So,” Harry asks, watching as Louis literally bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. He just has so much _energy_. Christ. Harry would like nothing more than to wear him out. “What do you like, do?” 

Louis stops hopping and looks at him, smirking. “What do I do?” 

Harry nods. “Yeah, like, for a job?” 

“I’m an actor,” he says, and shrugs. “Or, trying to be. Also a bartender. Mostly a bartender, actually.”

Harry honestly can’t think of any reason Louis shouldn’t be on the telly or the stage. Harry’s been watching him _walk_ and he’s enraptured. He’d probably shit his pants if Louis recited Shakespeare or something. Well, maybe not, but he’s sure he’d like it. 

“Seems like the kind of thing you’d be good at,” Harry says, and Louis huffs out a laugh. 

“What, bartender? Cheers, mate.” 

Harry flushes. “Nah, meant acting.” He pauses for a moment, chews on his lip. “Bartending works too, though. You’ve got good hands.” 

Louis catches his gaze, his smirk spreading into a predatory grin. “You like my hands, then?” 

“Yeah, suppose I do.” Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. Louis’ eyes snap to his mouth, tracking the movement, and Harry grins, taking a step forward. “You have a problem with that?” 

“Not at all,” Louis answers, biting his own bottom lip as Harry crowds up into his space, leaving centimeters between them. Louis has to tilt his head back to meet Harry’s eyes, and God, Harry just wants to reach out and touch. Fuck Zayn’s project, fuck “organic meetings”, fuck _art._ Harry just wants to kiss. 

He licks his lips again, leaning down the tiniest bit as Louis looks up at him. Harry lifts a hand, brings it to Louis’ jaw but doesn’t touch, just barely skims it along his skin. Louis shivers, his pupils dilating, and Harry sucks in a breath. 

The door opens and they spring away from each other, like the same charge sides of two magnets trying to meet. Zayn’s face appears a second later, and Harry has to take another breath to calm himself down.

“Oi, you two, you’re up,” he says, ushering them out, and Harry, God, Harry feels so jittery all of a sudden, like the time he drank Liam’s coffee with four espresso shots in it on accident. He takes a few deep breaths, bounces on his toes while Zayn and Nick adjust some lighting thing. Harry moves to stand on one of the marks when he’s told, and Louis joins him a second later, looking just about as nervous as Harry feels. 

Good. 

“Christ, but you’re giant,” Louis mutters, giving Harry a once over that makes his skin tingle. 

“Only where it matters,” Harry says, automatic, and pleased with the way Louis gives him a surprised laugh. 

“Cheeky,” he murmurs, and Harry has to stop himself from kissing him. Again. 

“Oi, Zayner, could I get a box or summat? He’s huge,” Louis says, pointing to Harry with a thumb. Zayn obliges, though, and brings over a small platform that brings Louis to Harry’s eye level once he stands on it. 

“Don’t fucking trip on it, okay? I know how you are.” Zayn points at Harry threateningly, and Harry holds his hands up. It’s not like he tries to be a klutz, really. He doesn’t fall down on _purpose._ It’s not like, fun. Hurts, actually, most of the time.

Zayn leaves them to adjust more levels, and Harry focuses on Louis again, who’s chewing on his thumbnail. Harry wants to grab his hand and tug it away, press a kiss to the thumb and then to Louis’ mouth. It’s not the most rational of things, he knows, but God, the anticipation is seriously going to kill him, and he’ll die without ever kissing Louis. It’s dead cruel. 

(Ha. Dead. Get it?) 

“Hey gorgeous,” Harry murmurs instead of doing any of the other things he was thinking about-- to preserve the sanctity Zayn’s art, obviously-- and Louis startles, drops his hand from his mouth, rolling his eyes after a moment. 

“You’ll need to work on that,” Louis mutters back, clearly trying to convince Harry he’s not flattered, but Harry’s brand of seduction relies heavily on being as honest and positive as possible, and it’s rare that someone tells him no. There’s no reason to think Louis won’t, but maybe he should tone it down. Wouldn’t want to make the bloke he’s about to kiss uncomfortable. Not when he’s been waiting so long. 

“You’ll kiss me anyway,” Harry says, because clearly part of his brain (probably the part most connected to his dick) hasn’t caught up with the rest of it. 

Louis doesn’t seem bothered. His eyebrows flick up and he sighs, put-upon and long suffering. 

“Guess I will,” he says, and Harry’s mouth stretches so wide in a smile it almost hurts. 

“We’re recording,” Zayn says loudly, and Harry blinks, surprised, but still taking a step closer. 

He ducks his head, looking down at the platform and Louis’ feet, smiling when Louis steps closer too, his body swaying toward Harry’s in what has to be a very conscious movement. 

_Actor_ , Harry thinks, but then Louis’ hand brushes his, just lightly, and the contact sends a shiver up his spine that makes his breath catch. He reaches out, trailing his fingers down Louis’ and linking them before reaching out with the other. He hears Louis let out a little breath and relaxes slightly. 

That’s a good sign, right? That Louis actually wants to do this and isn’t just acting or whatever. Harry tries to push the thought from his mind as Louis steps closer, pressing his forehead to Harry’s and squeezing his fingertips gently. 

The action screams _kiss me_ , and Harry doesn’t think about how maybe Louis planned it that way, for Zayn’s film. But, organic, right?

“Are we--” Harry looks up, clears his throat, startled by the sound of his own voice in the quiet room. Louis leans back and lets go of his hands, but only, apparently, to put them over Harry’s shoulders. God, Harry wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him _right now._

“Are we good to go whenever?” Harry asks, looking around for Zayn, nearly heaving a sigh of relief when Zayn gives him a thumbs up. 

He turns his focus back to Louis, fitting his hands to his hips. It feels right, is the thing. His hands on Louis’ hips. They feel like they’re always meant to be there. It’s nice. He glances up again at Louis, who’s smiling at him, expectant and still thrumming with energy. 

Harry takes an unconscious step forward, forgetting about the platform, and trips into it with a loud thud and a curse that makes Louis cackle as Harry falls against his chest. 

“Damn it, Haz,” he hears Zayn say, and Louis laughs louder. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, wincing a little as he pulls back, looking up at Louis, whose face is bright with amusement. “I’m a bit of a klutz,” he adds, and Louis smiles.

“I noticed, love,” he says softly, and Harry puts a hand to his face to pull him down into a kiss. 

The moment their lips touch, Harry feels all the tension that’s been pulling at his muscles tighten and burst into something like relief mixed with joy and undercut with a sharp edge of want. The feeling zips through his body, thrumming.

Louis’ lips are soft and purposed, moving against Harry’s like he already knows exactly how to kiss him. Harry inhales a breath through his nose, light-headed and giddy. Louis moves into him, pressing them together from chest to groin, and Harry just manages to hold back a noise, lifting his other hand to Louis’ face to feel the soft skin under his hands and keep him close. Louis seems content to let Harry lead; he parts his lips when Harry runs his tongue over them and gives as good as he gets when Harry licks into the heat of his mouth, his tongue curling around Harry’s and sucking.

Harry tilts his head away for a flash of a second, just to draw in a breath, and Louis’ hands go to Harry’s sides, running down them and back up as he kisses Louis again, a hand sliding around to rest at the nape of Louis’ neck. Harry licks into his mouth, hot and wet and dirty this time, runs his tongue over Louis’ sharp teeth and the roof of his mouth. He tastes like-- he tastes like something sweet and something minty, and also faintly like tea, and Harry never wants to taste anyone else, ever again. 

(He’s glad, not for the first time since it happened, that he wasn’t actually sick in the loo this morning.) 

Louis sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, and tugs Harry against him, rolling his body against Harry’s in a smooth motion that makes Harry light-headed all over again, but he can’t actually find it in himself to pull away for a real breath. Louis does it for him, pulling his head away for a quick inhalation. Harry feels heavy, his blood buzzing in his limbs and his mouth tingling. Louis doesn’t look like he’s much better off. His mouth’s spit-shiny and swollen a little, his eyes blown black-- a tiny sliver of blue around the edges. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry can’t believe he was ever actually nervous about this. 

Louis crowds against him again, like he knows Harry’s mind’s wandering, and wraps his hands around Harry’s neck, kissing him harder, nipping into Harry’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Harry’s hands shift, moving from Louis’ face to wrap around him, one in the middle of his back and the other edging down toward his bum, sliding over the curve of it and squeezing lightly. Louis’ hips jolt against his own, and Louis bites down, hard, on Harry’s lip, making him hiss and pull away. 

“S’what you get for being handsy, Watersports,” Louis murmurs, and Harry leans in to kiss him again. 

Zayn clears his throat loudly, and Harry stops in his tracks, eyes widening. He’d completely forgotten there were other people in the room. God. 

“Oops,” he mouths, and Louis laughs, pushing him away. Harry can’t really do anything but look at Louis and smile, though-- his faculties have been hindered for a moment, and if Louis was gorgeous before, he’s even more gorgeous now with his mouth a deep pink and lips puffed up and a faint line of flush over his cheeks, under the tan. Harry wonders, fleetingly, if Louis’ ever grown a beard, and what the scratch of it would feel like against his skin. 

“What was your name again?” Louis asks him without looking at him and laughs. It takes Harry a split second, but then he laughs too, because he realizes he never actually told Louis his name. Christ. 

“M’Harry,” he says, trying not to laugh again. Or to like, kiss him. “Nice to meet you.” He offers a hand, and Louis takes it, grinning at him. 

“Yeah, nice to meet you too.” 

They look at each other for a moment, hands linked between them before Zayn speaks. 

“Think that’s all I need, guys,” he says, looking at them curiously, and Harry gives him a serene smile. He can only imagine what Zayn’s thinking-- _He’s my friend, H, don’t even think about fucking him, just stay away_ \-- but since he’s not saying it aloud, Harry doesn’t have to listen. 

“Okay,” Harry says, drawing the word out. He’s still holding Louis’ hand, he realizes, but he’s not too eager to let him go just yet. 

“You want to get lunch?” He tugs on Louis’ hand a bit as he asks, leading him off the set. Louis follows easily enough, though the feeling from before is back. The casual disinterest, and it’s making Harry’s skin itch. 

Louis turns, gives him a calculating look and another once-over before nodding. “Yeah, could go for some food.” 

Harry gives him a smile and tugs him toward the door. 

\---

They end up at Harry’s flat and Louis is on Harry the second the door shuts behind him. It’s not surprising; Louis could hardly keep his hands to himself the whole walk back, and Harry’s certainly not in any position to complain. 

Harry pushes the jacket off Louis’ shoulders and crowds him up against the door, hands going to his hips. He feels a little thrill in his chest when Louis tugs on him, trying to get him lower to maybe recreate the angle from their earlier kiss, and he laughs, then again harder when Louis pinches his hip. 

“You going to let me touch this time?” Harry mumbles it into the skin under Louis’ ear as his hands slide to the small of Louis’ back, fingertips digging in just above the curve of his bum. 

“Yeah,” Louis responds on a sigh, tilting his head to give Harry more room on his neck, letting out what Harry hopes is a pleased gasp when he starts to suck and work at the skin with his teeth, intent on leaving a mark. His hands slide lower as he works on Louis’ neck, feeling out Louis’ bum and cupping it. He squeezes, grins against Louis’ neck at the low moan he lets out. 

“Fuck,” Louis says, panting and leaning back, searching out Harry’s mouth. Harry gives it to him, biting at his bottom lip and running his tongue over the hurt before kissing him again. 

“Your mouth,” Louis pants, hands scrabbling against Harry’s back. Harry squeezes his bum again, just to hear the moan and swallow it. 

“Your _hands._ ” 

“Think I’ve got good ones?” Harry says it into his mouth, punctuating with a roll of his hips and laughing when Louis all but whimpers. 

“Piss off,” he says, and Harry kisses him again, bending a little before grabbing the backs of Louis thighs and hauling him up, pressing him to the door. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, his hands going to Harry’s hair, tugging. 

“No fair,” Louis says, tightening his legs, and that’s-- _fuck_ , that’s hot, because Louis’ thighs are toned and strong and squeezing the breath out of him. Harry could definitely go for this. Is going for it, judging by the way his dick’s hard in his jeans.

“You’ll have to think of a way to get me back,” Harry responds, pulling away to rest his head against Louis’ collarbone. He can’t seem to stop his hips grinding up and into Louis’, transfixed by the hard length of his dick against his own, the little breathy noises that escape Louis’ mouth every time he does it. It’s addictive. Harry loves it. Louis cards a hand through Harry’s curls, tugging until Harry meets his gaze again. 

“Do you have a bedroom,” he says, voice rough, sending a bolt of arousal straight to Harry’s crotch, “or were you planning on fucking me against this door?” 

And it’s-- _God_ , this is probably the best sex Harry’s had in years-- maybe even ever, but that’s a little pathetic-- and Harry doesn’t even know Louis’ last name. He can’t help the groan that escapes, or the way he gasps out Louis’ name, pulling away from the door to carry him down the short corridor and into his room. 

“Proper caveman, aren’t you,” Louis says when Harry drops him on the bed and crawls over him. He’s a bit too breathless to sound anything but turned on and impressed-- at least, in Harry’s interpretation-- so Harry just kisses him quiet, hands sneaking under the hem of Louis’ shirt to get it off him. 

Louis’ skin is tanned and smooth and unfairly soft when Harry runs his hand over his stomach. Harry never wants to stop touching it. 

“D’you moisturize this?” he asks stroking down his stomach again, kissing down Louis’ neck to his chest, tonguing over the tattoo before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Louis’ hand tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in a way that makes Harry whimper, but not in pain. Never in pain, when his hair’s involved. 

“Be nice,” Louis warns, and Harry smiles up at him. 

“I can be very nice,” he says, kissing and biting down Louis’ stomach as his hands undo the flies on Louis’ jeans, tugging them down and off.

“D’you want to see how nice I can be?” Harry’s voice is soft, and he traces the edge of the waistband of Louis’ pants. He sucks a mark into the skin under Louis’ belly button, where his stomach’s softest, until Louis writhes, tugging at Harry’s shirt. 

“Off, off,” he whines, and Harry indulges him, letting him pull the t-shirt off and then up into another kiss. Harry’s fairly certain he could kiss Louis every day for the rest of his life and never get tired of it. 

And that’s. Well. That’s a thought, certainly, and he feels like it should scare him, maybe, that he’s thinking that so soon, but Louis hooks a leg around Harry’s hip and kisses him harder and he forgets to be freaked out about it. 

Harry fumbles his way out of his jeans, kicking them off the bed before crawling up again, repositioning them so he’s inside Louis’ thighs, rolling their hips together in a way that sends a spark of heat up his spine with every movement. Louis’ still panting under him, back arching every time Harry moves just right. He’s still got a hand tangled in Harry’s curls, tight and fucking brilliant, and Harry’s sure he could come, just like this. It’s not like he’s far off. 

“Lou,” he says, breathless himself, and Louis blinks his eyes open, looking at him. Harry can’t help it; he thrusts up again, groaning. “Louis, is this what you want?” 

Louis makes a sort of gasping noise, his free hand moving to cup Harry through his pants, feeling him out. Harry moans, his hips stuttering against his hand. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, closing his eyes again, a shudder going through him. “Fuck, you’re big.” 

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs in agreement, because he is, and what person in their right mind disagrees with something like that at a time like this? He thrusts forward again, a slow drag of his hips against Louis’, making him moan. 

“You want it?” Harry asks, leaning down to kiss Louis’ flushed neck. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, hips rolling up into Harry’s, jostling them both. “Fuck, yeah, I do, c’mon Harry.” 

It’s a quick scramble to the bedside table for Harry to grab a condom and the lube, dropping the former on the bed for later and uncapping the bottle, glancing down at Louis. 

“Get your pants off,” he says, coating his fingers. Louis takes a moment to respond-- distracted by Harry’s hands, judging from the staring-- but Harry makes an impatient noise at him and he snaps to, shoving his underwear down and off. Harry settles between his thighs again, unable to resist wrapping a hand around Louis’ pretty, fat cock. Louis makes a noise that sounds like he’s been punched as Harry pulls his hand along the length of it, squeezing the head. He grins up at Louis, making sure to keep the eye contact as he leans down, licking a stripe up the underside of it and taking the head into his mouth to suck once, hard, before pulling off.

Louis makes a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob, his hips chasing Harry’s mouth. 

“Stop fucking teasing,” he snaps and Harry only smiles at him again before tracing a slick finger over his hole. Louis tenses, then goes slack against the bed, nodding. 

Harry takes his time fingering him open-- not to be a tease, honestly, but to make sure Louis’ good and prepared. Harry’s perpetual need to please everyone definitely extends over into his sex life, and if Louis doesn’t have a good time taking Harry’s cock, then Harry’s not going to have a good time either. Simple as that. And Louis is so goddamn pretty that it’d be a shame not to take his time and enjoy the show.

He gets three fingers deep, rubbing them over Louis’ prostate as he stretches them out, heat licking up his spine as Louis arches under him, fucking back down on the fingers. 

“Could you come like this,” Harry murmurs, leaning up for Louis’ mouth, red bitten and raw, licking into it for a moment before pulling back. “Could you come from just my fingers? I bet you could. I bet you’d look so good doing it, Louis, jesus. Look so good right now, fucked out and needy.” 

Louis whimpers, squirming, his arse clenching slightly around Harry’s fingers. “Harry,” he whines, pawing at Harry’s chest, and Harry leans down to kiss him again until he’s still. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, kissing the underside of Louis’ jaw as he gently draws his fingers out. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m gonna take good care of you.” 

He finds the condom and rips it open, rolling it on a slicking himself up probably the fastest he’s ever managed. He moves between Louis’ thighs, a hand tracing up one, fingers pulling at Louis’ hole again, making him shudder. 

“Harry,” he snaps, but it’s needy, desperate, and Harry can’t help the feeling that washes over him at the thought. He grabs the base of his cock, lines up and presses lightly, smirking when Louis spreads his legs wider. He considers, briefly, asking Louis to tell him one more time, just to make sure, just to hear how much he fucking wants it, but as he leans down, Louis moves his hips, and the tip of Harry’s cock pushes in just slightly, making them both groan. 

Harry hooks an arm around one of Louis’ thighs and fits the other around his waist. It seems-- it seems different, now, that they’re about to do this. It’s not nerves, really, but it’s just-- Harry’s not even sure. It’s just different than it’s been with anyone else. Better. More.

“Seriously, Harry, don’t fucking make me beg,” Louis says, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. The thought of Louis begging is a bit laughable, just from what Harry knows of him, but it’s also intriguing, definitely, and he wouldn’t mind seeing Louis sprawled out and begging for it, arse in the air. Definitely, definitely worth looking into.

“Won’t, promise, sorry,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Louis’ knee in apology. Louis opens his mouth-- presumably to say something else-- but Harry decides that’s a good a time as any to thrust forward, pushing past Louis’ rim and halfway home. Louis makes the noise again, like he’s been punched, and Harry has to take a deep breath. 

Louis’ so hot and so, so tight, even with all the prep, and it’s almost too much. Harry has to take a few deep breaths, press some kisses to Louis’ thigh while he regains control. 

“You good?” he mutters to Louis, making eye contact. His pupils are blown out wide again and the muscles in his stomach are fluttering, like he’s close, and god, they’ve barely started, really. 

“Yeah,” Louis says shakily, nodding. “Yeah, please.” 

Harry pulls out slightly-- eyelids fluttering at the sweet clench of Louis’ muscles around his cock-- and thrusts back in, hard and deep. Louis moans, loud and nearly a whine, and his cock blurts a drop of precome onto his stomach. 

“Okay?” Harry asks, running a hand down his side. 

Louis glares at him. “Yes, Harry, it’s fucking brilliant, now will you-- oh _fuck_ \--” he groans as Harry fucks in again, a hard roll of his hips that gets him deep.

He’s relentless, holding Louis’ thigh as the other digs into Louis’ hip, thrusting in and out so hard the bed starts to move with his movements, headboard slapping against the wall with each thrust. If he were more worried about anything other than the heat of Louis’ body surrounding him he might spare a thought for Liam and where he is, or for the fact that his life may actually be a terribly cheesy porn film. 

Louis moans louder when Harry changes the angle just slightly, pants out, “Yeah, there, just there Harry, fuck, please,” and then it’s not long at all before Louis’ coming, cock jerking between their stomachs, filling the space with a warm, sticky mess and his arse clamping down around Harry’s dick, sending him over the edge as well. 

Harry slows to a stop, chest heaving a bit as he drops Louis’ leg and keeps himself up with shaky arms. He presses a soft kiss to Louis’ mouth as he pulls out as gently as possible, and another when Louis lets out a low whine anyway. 

“Be right back,” he says, pulling away from Louis to wander into his ensuite, peeling the condom off and binning it before wetting a flannel and bringing it back to wipe up the mess on Louis’ stomach. He cleans Louis up, tossing the flannel back in the direction of the bathroom before sinking down on the bed. 

He tries not to feel so smug about the way Louis turns toward him automatically and snuggles up to him, but he can’t. 

“That was good, thank you,” Louis says, and Harry rumbles out a laugh, surprised. 

“Only good?” He raises his eyebrows, leans in to nudge Louis’ forehead with his nose until the other boy gives in, tilting up so Harry can kiss him. “I should hope it was a bit more than good,” he says, relishing in the way Louis shivers against him. 

“Yeah, fine, it was brilliant, but no one likes a show off,” Louis grumbles, pinching Harry’s nipple, making him laugh. 

“Nothing wrong with wanting to know you’ve done a good job,” Harry says mildly, mostly because Louis seems to enjoy it, the easy banter. 

“Suppose you’re right,” Louis says, and Harry smirks. 

“Of course I am.” He rolls, lifting up the duvet and snuggling under it. He looks at Louis, expectant. “C’mon, it’s naptime.” 

Louis narrows his eyes, then shrugs, working his way under the duvet as well. “You’re lucky I don’t have any other plans for today,” he says, but Harry just wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close, nosing at the nape of his neck. 

“Go to sleep, Lou,” he says, voice already heavy with sleep. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, and it’s the last thing Harry hears before sleep fades his world into black.

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi!](http://jessimond.tumblr.com)


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